stick with it

there seems to be no adherence although there is an adhesion. There you go…my sentence is already tripping me up. Tangling and confounding in the self-destructing act(ing). I sit alone with these words and hope that by discussing lack of stick I will be able to sidle up towards it (secretly, ssshhhh) and…



…amber shit…

…the stick beats and binds. The shit bleats and blinds (not dazzlingly). This is the adhesion. Letters drop in and out. Surfaces adhering abnormally rather than the normal adhesion of scar tissue. An abnormalization that sticks the leaves together. Abnormal and normal leave together—their binaric coupling is not served here. I sit alone with these words. I slit a one with these words. A one is slit by a sleight. Off hand. Throw away. Through a way. I go at again and again to find a way through, not from one side to the other but within. Burrowing. Borrowing words to burrow through. The spoil heap builds up (scar tissue on the surface) convening through this act surface and surfacing at once. At twice. At n. Let’s fall from this point of grey to a new paragraph

a quantum leap brought us here. Us? I was alone just now. Well, the words and I. My words. My mined words. I and my mined words are now joined by you (the reader-viewer). Joined by you as in the suturing act. Your eyes provide hyphens, your is provide points, my I has no point. No point to fall from. Keep going on this calligram of stepping stones or, better, monkey bars. I reach for words but the words make me (w)retch(ed). Am I regurgitating them? I don’t remember them but then again my memory has been dulled to d/r-eflection. Try some old tricks with these new words…

(another paragraph) there is alone towards the adhesion. Adhesion normal words. Through other scar twice. There is a loan towards the adhesion (a loan that must be repaid or measures will be taken) but through adhesion normal words re-scar (otherwise). Re-scar eh? I’ve been marked and warned. Have the words also just been on loan? The words and adhesion are on lone. How can that be. Reader! Reader! Viewer? Shine a light this way. I want to alight this way but I’m pulled back (taken aback?). I do not see a way from this next point onwards.

This is becoming a game. A lazy trick to thread one paragraph to the next. The threads will not hold you know. Is that ‘you’ you or I? This I sees that but hears the tricks of the words (tricollage). We are being woven into these surface words. Too passive. At once victim and executor. Terms to be carried out against our wills. We weave this surface from our own grounds (no, I meant to say words). A Wittgensteinian slip. Quick, to the fortress doors! Prepare for an assault!

[a figure exits stage left holding a duckrabbit] Phew! I don’t think he saw us. Don’t do that again! They know you know. They know you know. They don’t know that I don’t know. These words we weave are a minefield, be careful where you tread my friend. Do you see where it said “burrowing” up above (earlier-on-but-still-there-now)? That could easily have induced the Frenchman. No, not that one, the other one, no, the other other one. Maybe both, all three or more. Our field that is a minefield must be mined. Burrowing (“Qui est à l’appareil?”) and authoring both. I/we have created this minefield and now we must live within it.

There will be times when I am too scared to move. Maybe then I can just enjoy the view (endure the vous). Wait for the weather to turn. I would like that luxury of time very much. When did time and money become so…so…when did this adhesion between time and money take place? No matter we must attend to these words. A magpie looks me in the eye. I have no words for it. Eye have now words forêt. What is going on hear? It is as though the paragraphs are being pulled through themselves, by themselves. Words have become infected with some virus. The eyes have been pecked out [say it]. Our home built of words is as blind as a mole (“though moles see…”). Can we live with the constant threat of this explosive act?

Take precautions. Act fast. Get down fast. When you see the flash there is no time to run…Stay down for at least a minute. But what if we are the flashing of the flash? How can we get down faster than ourselves? You are still with me…that’s a comfort. If you are not still here are these words


Over eight-hundred words from a lack of adhesion. Formally attack adhesion. I can sense a terminal point but can we put it off a bit longer by other means than a quantum leap? Well done! Oh, and again it worked; a double-blow for life beyond the point (or indeed beside the point) which may give us some wiggle-room…a little more breath…

a strange foretelling that the eighty-thousand words will calligramatically form an empty vessel. Not seaworthy. Well, I certainly will not put to see in it. Is this here vessel worthy of seeing riddled as it is with wholes that never quite amount to very much (certainly not the sum of their parts). A holesome vessel beyond seaing but maybe perfectly adequate for a little hearing with three good men and true. (Why did I not include any footnotes?1)

[-80x magnification]


1. This text is written in pyrrhic pent amateur.

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